Chapter 4: The Morning After

I woke up sore and sticky in Bjorn’s tent, the sour smell of sex and sweat making my head spin. I had bruises I didn’t even remember getting. The night before came back in bits and pieces, mostly flashes of that giant barbarian grinning as he took me over and over. My head felt like someone had used it for target practice, but my neck was still attached to the rest of me, so at least that was something. I tried to move and immediately regretted it when the first thing I saw was Bjorn himself, already wide awake and looking smug as hell.

“About time,” he said, and before I could protest, he was clamping a decorated collar back around my neck like a farmer tagging a new calf.

The collar was thick leather, crude symbols scratched into it along with small metal bits that jingled whenever I so much as blinked. I tried to pull away, but Bjorn had an iron grip on my arm, the same way he’d had on my ass last night. “Hey!” I yelped, sounding even more pathetic than I felt. “I don’t remember signing up for a—”

“Collar looks good,” Bjorn interrupted, his grin wide enough to swallow me whole. “Fits right.”

The tent felt like it was closing in, the air thick and too damned intimate. “Look, this is all very... decorative, but—”

“Must finish prize,” Bjorn said, ignoring me entirely. Before I could wriggle free, he was dipping his fingers in some disgusting mixture of ash and berry juice, slapping it onto my skin in big, careless swipes. The cold gunk sent a shiver down my spine as he smeared it across my chest.

I twisted and struggled, but the barbarian had arms thicker than my legs. “Hold still, little man,” Bjorn laughed, his voice booming enough to rattle my teeth. “Prize must look like prize!”

“More like prize idiot,” I muttered, trying not to flinch as he painted lines down my back. My muscles ached with every twitch, a sore reminder of what he’d done to me, and of what Felix had done while he slept. My head spun, and it wasn’t just the leftover dizziness from too much mead and too many cocks at once.

When Bjorn finally stepped back to admire his handiwork, my bare ass brushed against the chill air, reminding me just how naked I still was. My face burned, and I hoped like hell it didn’t match the damned marks. “I can’t walk around like this!”

“You are right,” Bjorn said, nodding in agreement for once. “Needs finishing touch.”

He tossed me a tiny piece of fabric that could have passed for a napkin in a more civilized place. I picked it up, feeling the dread sink in as I realized it was supposed to be a loincloth. Bjorn watched with the amusement of a man who’s just been given his very own plaything. “Go on, little man. Put on. Make you feel less... shy.”

I glared at him but knew I didn’t have much of a choice. Wrapping the loincloth around my hips, I did my best to cover myself, but it was a losing battle. My ass was still exposed, and the damn thing hung low enough in the front to leave nothing to the imagination.

Bjorn laughed, a booming sound that made the whole tent shake. “Now you look like prize!”

I looked like a complete fool, and I knew it. “Can’t I at least wear pants?” I tried, desperation creeping into my voice.

“No,” Bjorn said, swatting my bare ass so hard I yelped again. “Prize must show off. Be proud!”

As he led me out into the cold, I tried to focus on anything other than how exposed I was. My skin was a patchwork of ash marks and bruises, and I felt like a human advertisement for Bjorn’s stamina. The metal trinkets on the collar jingled with every reluctant step, announcing to the whole world that I’d been claimed, marked, and thoroughly humiliated. And worst of all, despite the anger and shame, I couldn’t quite shake the confusing thrill of being paraded around like Bjorn’s prized possession.

I stumbled along behind Bjorn as he dragged me through the stronghold, a naked little fish on the hook of his giant hand. My makeshift loincloth clung to me, barely doing its job as Bjorn paraded me around. Every barbarian in the place stopped to watch, each pair of eyes staring at my markings and my ridiculous outfit. They made crude comments and raucous jokes, and I could practically feel them undressing me with their eyes, which wasn’t hard because I was already wearing nothing. When a particularly loud group of them made suggestive gestures, I felt my face burn and my dignity fly right out of the flapping front of my loincloth.

I tried to keep my chin up as Bjorn led me past a group of barbarians who paused in their drinking to give me a once-over.

“Look at Bjorn’s new plaything!” one of them shouted, pointing right at me with a giant, greasy finger.

Another one laughed so hard he nearly fell off his bench. “Careful, little man! Don’t get lost in that collar!”

I tried to act like I didn’t care, but it was tough with Bjorn’s hand locked around my neck and his giant legs striding along so fast I could barely keep up.

It took all my willpower not to turn around and bolt back to Bjorn’s tent, humiliating jingle and all. But Bjorn wouldn’t have allowed it, and deep down, there was a part of me that didn’t want to.

“Careful!” he boomed, jerking me out of my daze and hauling me clear of a tent post I was about to smack into. “Clumsy prize gets damaged!”

I felt damaged already, and not just because of the sore spots and bruises.

“Bet it broke in nice!” one of them shouted, his grin as wide as Bjorn’s was smug.

“Won it fair!” Bjorn called back, laughing.

I nearly choked on my own mortification. But then I saw something else, something that made my humiliation flare even hotter: Felix. He was lurking by a tent, looking infuriatingly amused.

The smug bastard had a front-row seat to the whole spectacle, and he was loving every second of it. I caught his eye, and he just grinned, raising an eyebrow in a way that said, “I told you so.” I wanted to punch that look off his face and maybe wipe that smugness with something hard and rough.

“Is your face that red or is Bjorn painting you again?” Felix called, loud enough for me to hear but not loud enough to draw attention.

I scowled at him, trying to cover as much of myself as possible with my hands and the pathetic loincloth. It was no use.

I tried to block it all out, tried to focus on the other side of the stronghold, but the place was a sprawling nightmare with no escape in sight. Everywhere I looked, more barbarians were stopping to stare, drink, and laugh at my expense. It was worse than when Maya left me. Hell, it was worse than last night with Bjorn and Felix. At least then, I’d known who was screwing me.

With Bjorn parading me around like a prized possession, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever escape. Worse, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.

Helga Skullbreaker was a mountain dressed like a woman, a towering mass of muscle and menace that made Bjorn look almost manageable. She emerged from the largest tent, her steel-gray hair a wild tangle and her battle scars rippling across her arms and shoulders. She carried a huge club with her, an accessory that looked almost delicate in her grip. As she spotted us, a smile curled across her lips, and I swear it grew wider with every panicked beat of my heart. She approached, her eyes never leaving me. I stood there too stunned to even twitch. When Bjorn’s voice boomed out beside me, I nearly jumped out of my pathetic little loincloth. “Look at prize from drinking contest!” he announced, his chest swelling with pride. Helga circled me slowly, the predatory look in her eyes making my skin crawl in all the wrong ways.

“Pretty little thing,” Helga said, her eyes running down my body. Her voice was deep and smooth, with a sharp edge that could cut glass.

“Good, yes?” Bjorn puffed up, one arm still firmly clamped on my collar. “Best prize Bjorn win in years!”

Helga’s smile widened, and she reached out a hand the size of my entire face. Her fingers were calloused but cool against my skin as she ran one along my jawline, making sure I felt every inch of her touch. My heart pounded so hard I was sure they both could hear it. Under that slow touch my cock stirred and began to lift the front of the scrap of cloth.

“You’ll need to share this one, husband,” Helga said, gripping my chin and forcing me to look straight into her eyes. They were cold and calculating, the kind of eyes that had seen countless battles and won every one of them.

“Ha!” Bjorn laughed, and the sound made my ribs vibrate. “Helga always want new things! Bjorn never get to keep toys for self!”

“Looks like he’s already had some use,” Helga said, letting go of my chin and letting her gaze travel lower, to the front of my loincloth, which was in no state to hide anything. I shivered despite myself, my skin burning where she’d touched it.

Bjorn was still laughing, still bragging, and I was stuck in place, too stunned to do anything but stand there and hope I didn’t pass out.

“I like this prize,” she said finally, her voice a low rumble. “Has spirit.”

“You share now, Bjorn?” Helga asked, her lips curling into that predatory smile again.

“Not yet,” Bjorn said, pulling me closer. “Need more time with prize first. Maybe later.”

The fiery-haired daughter was the best-looking thing I’d seen in the north, and she wanted me dead. She stood a head shorter than Bjorn and still a head taller than me. Her wild mane of red hair streamed down her back, and her eyes burned hot enough to set the whole damned stronghold on fire. I didn’t know who she was until Bjorn called her over to “meet his prize” and called her his daughter, and I realized she was about my age. Her hand rested on the haft of one of her two axes, and she approached with a tension that suggested she might explode at any moment. She circled me with open contempt, her voice a fierce challenge that cut straight through me. “You bring outsider filth into our stronghold? For what? A warm hole at night?” Her anger was bigger than just my presence, an intensity I couldn’t quite understand but could definitely feel as it ripped into me.

“Meet Bjorn’s prize!” Bjorn said, his voice booming enough to make Sigrid flinch. “Won him fair in drinking contest!”

Helga hadn’t gone far. She stood at her tent flap with her arms folded, watching Sigrid the way you watch a pot you don’t trust not to boil over, and Sigrid never once looked her way. Whoever this girl’s mother was, it wasn’t Helga.

Bjorn laughed, the sound echoing across the stronghold. “Sigrid too serious,” he said, giving me a playful shake that almost rattled my teeth out. “Fun to have new things!”

“New things,” she repeated, her voice dripping with contempt. “You think this is a toy? You think it will make you strong?”

“I think Sigrid jealous,” Bjorn said, and I couldn’t believe the words were actually coming out of his mouth. “Sigrid want prize for self?”

She let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a growl, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “Keep your filthy outsider,” she said, turning away with a final look over her shoulder. “See how long it lasts.”

I was smitten, and I couldn’t hide it. I knew she saw, knew she must have seen, and the shame of it was almost enough to distract me from the terrifying truth: Sigrid was just as dangerous as her father, maybe more so. And I was in over my head, in more ways than one.

I almost ran straight into Felix when Bjorn got distracted by a wrestling match, his attention drawn by a particularly loud cry and the sight of two warriors locked together in the mud. Felix appeared out of nowhere. “Having fun yet?” he asked, barely holding back laughter. His eyes danced with mischief as he took in my bare skin and painted marks.

“Are you going to help me get out of this or what?” I snapped, more desperate than I wanted to admit.

Felix shook his head, the grin never leaving his lips. “This is the most entertaining thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice maddening with its fake sympathy and its real amusement. He pocketed trinkets from a nearby table with ease, the barbarians too busy drinking and boasting to notice. I watched, incredulous, as he started to walk away. “Wait!” I called after him, trying to keep my voice from cracking. “Are you serious?”

Felix turned, giving me one last teasing look before melting back into the shadows. “I’ve got plans of my own,” he said, leaving me to wonder what kind of game he was playing, and how much worse it would make my own situation.

I couldn’t believe how calm he looked, how easy it was for him to move through the camp without a care in the world. He wasn’t just going to leave me here, was he? The thought made my stomach twist more than the night with Bjorn and Felix combined.

Felix was already ingratiating himself with other barbarians, especially a group of younger warriors who watched him with interest and a lot of awe. One of them, a shaggy blond almost as wiry as Felix, was particularly taken with him, hanging on his every word and smiling shyly whenever Felix glanced his way.

It wouldn’t surprise me if Felix was planning to lead the next raid or take over the entire stronghold.

When I saw the gnome’s bearded mug and my favorite boots flash by, I knew things were only going to get more complicated. With Felix playing his own game, who knew what kind of mess we’d end up in this time? Knowing him, it was going to be big, loud, and leave me with even less to cover my bare ass.